


birds

by upottery



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bottom Alex, Feminization, M/M, Panties, Rimming, amen, first time posting something in 3 years on this hellsite and its youtuber rpf, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26298616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upottery/pseuds/upottery
Summary: “Really, Al, without your dirt stache, eatin’ Shreddies in what looks like the largest shirt ever sold, coulda thought you were a fit bird. I could’ve just taken out my phone to congratulate you.” George laughs too, more animated than Alex had. “Fuck off, mate. You look way too fuckin’ convincin’ like that.”Alex scrambles for something witty, fighting to reply amidst the blush he can feel warming his cheeks. “You fuckin’ wish, George. I’m way too fit for you.”
Relationships: George Andrew/Alex Elmslie
Comments: 19
Kudos: 119





	birds

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you write youtuber rpf when you get home from your Career Job

Alex shaves on a Wednesday after a week or so letting of his pitiful lip hairs populate. He wouldn’t blame himself if he couldn’t discern the day of the week, a million and one Wednesdays have happened since March. Lately, time feels surreal, strangely stagnant and yet too quick all the same. He can’t help but feel like the world has been continuing on its merry way despite the endless days and nights. Sure, as an Internet Sensation, he’s never had much of a concrete schedule, but this is beyond the pale. Most days, he only emerges from his room to eat an ungodly amount of Tim-Tams.

Each time he shaves, Alex notices that his face completely changes. It’s strange, especially since he can hardly grow more than peach fuzz above his lips. George jokes about his mustache constantly, mostly congratulating Alex on his late blooming. Alex knows it’s good-natured, George is always taking the piss out of him, and yet. Yet, just those few hairs make a massive difference in how Alex perceives his features. When he’s by himself, usually in a loose t-shirt, hair uncombed, face freshly clean-shaven, blue-blue eyes in the mirror, he feels different. Not unlike himself, just a gentler version. Same features, but he meets his own gaze in the bathroom and someone distinctly feminine is staring back at him. 

It’s this new hair style, Alex reasons. He runs his hand through it, mussing it further. His t-shirt is hanging over his pants, which isn’t helping matters. He looks like a girl wearing the dirty laundry of the fortunate boy she’s just shagged. Or person. Alex doesn’t discriminate. 

Enough time has passed in the morning that George is probably awake, but Alex is uncaring, the call of chocolate Shreddies is too strong to wait for trousers. He walks out to the kitchen and is just starting to pour his milk into the crunchy, chocolatey goodness when his flatmate makes an expected appearance. George’s cereal sense must have been tingling. 

“Oy,” George calls from the living room, not yet looking towards Alex, “will you leave that out? Been thinking about having a bowl all morning, just too fucking lazy until I heard you knockin’--”

Alex’s got his cereal bowl clutched in his hands, turned facing George when he looks up at Alex. “‘Course, mate.”

“Have you got any trousers on, Alex?” George asks, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. 

Alex belatedly realizes how large this shirt truly is, pulling the collar up from where it’s stretched past his shoulder minutely. Christ, where did he get this massive shirt? Alex’s surprised George didn’t mistake him for an overnight one-off.

He raises his free hand to wave it, a little frantically, “I’ve got pants on George, I swear. Left out the trousers but I’m not free-ballin’ it, honest.” 

George huffs at him, “That’s good, innit? I’d want you to take me out to dinner first.” Alex laughs out loud at that, short and nervous. 

“Really, Al, without your dirt stache, eatin’ Shreddies in what looks like the largest shirt ever sold, coulda thought you were a fit bird. I could’ve just taken out my phone to congratulate you.” George laughs too, more animated than Alex had. “Fuck off, mate. You look way too fuckin’ convincin’ like that.” 

Alex scrambles for something witty, fighting to reply amidst the blush he can feel warming his cheeks. “You fuckin’ wish, George. I’m way too fit for you.”

George edges past him to pour his own bowl of cereal, rolling his eyes as he goes. 

-

It’s been days since that Wednesday morning in the kitchen. Alex likes to think he made a dignified escape with his Shreddies to his room. He also likes to think that he went about his day, editing a video or playing a few rounds of Fifa. The truth is, George’s comment has quite literally haunted him. Alex has to force down a lump in his throat every time he thinks about it, knows that he goes immediately red any time his thoughts drift to it. It’s consumed him, a little. It’s quite embarrassing. He figured he’d have a quick wank before bed that night and be done with it, out of his system and all. 

His dick didn’t seem to have the same idea. Alex’s body latched onto a passing horny thought like a lifeline. That night he had tossed and tossed in bed, trying not to think of his and George’s interaction, but it was like a pink elephant. He finally allowed himself to indulge in one image, one brief fucking fantasy of George treating him like a girl and he nearly came with one fucking finger tracing his dick outside of his trackies. 

Evidently, it’s now days later and there’s an Amazon package with five pairs of girly pants arriving today by 8pm. The notification on his phone was definitely mocking him. The one thought, the one image of George’s fingers perched on his hips as he leaned over Alex whispering  _ let’s see how wet you can get, then,  _ has lived rent-free in his mind every waking minute since. 

It’s not like he’s living in the wrong body. He knows that’s the case for some people, but Alex has a feeling this is more about the surrender for him, the exposure. The feeling of offering up your dignity for someone else to toy with. Analyzing it gives him a head rush. 

He’s formulated what’s perhaps the worst shagging plan ever concocted, which is saying something. He’s desperate to get this out of his system, he just needs to  _ focus _ again. He’s been trying to edit the same new video and his mind wanders so easily back to George’s imaginary weight above him. What’s a shag between flatmates, honestly? This is a special case, to be sure. No one foresaw a quarantine rendering them all in dry-spells. Alex  _ needs  _ this, and George will understand. Hopefully.

-

Alex’s plan to get George to shag him hasn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. Alex has stepped out of his room the past few days in some interesting outfits. Each day features one pair of the girl’s pants underneath some sort of shirt or jumper that he thinks makes him look soft, face freshly shaven and hair deliberately messy. Don’t get him wrong, he’s been wanking an unbelievable amount. The knickers have done a number on him. Alex genuinely thought he was going to fuck up and get pants that didn’t fit him, or the style would look ridiculous with his dick all smushed in, but that first night he had put them on, otherwise naked in his mirror, his skin suddenly caught fire. He was half-hard in what could have been 15 seconds, embarrassingly. The lines of the thin knickers, stark purple against his pale, thin body were an intoxicating sight. With his dick stretching the delicate fabric he felt positively feminine, and soft. 

It’s been work trying not to get his spunk all over them as he let his fantasy run absolutely rampant. The boys have been over a couple of times, really the only people he’s seen all quarantine, and he can’t even wear the pants casually around them. He’s almost too nervous to sit near George when his horny hind brain isn’t in control. 

Today, however, his horny brain is the only occupant, and he’s bringing out the big guns. He’s got a few pieces of unsold merch from both his and George’s early days, mostly the largest sizes luckily for him. Alex wonders absently if this counts as entrapment as he pulls on his light pink pair of knickers and slides his head through an extra-extra large Memeulous hoodie. 

It sits on him in just the way he was looking for. He shaved his legs this morning, too, just because he’s lost his fucking mind completely. He has to admit, though, he looks pretty fit. In the mirror, he holds himself purposefully smaller, bringing his shoulders and knees together, letting the hoodie cover half of his hands. He’s reeling with the distinctly female image he sees there. It’s enchanting. He always has known that his frame is smaller than most lads, hands dwarfed by any mate he’s ever had. It makes this whole thought process feel freeing, he can embrace his features that he had despised before.

Alex takes another look in the mirror, hoodie and smooth legs. He looks like he runs an OnlyFans for incels. Pretty fucking shaggable, if you ask him. With any luck, George’ll think the same. The pants pull so tight over the tops of his thighs, it’s distracting.

He walks out to the living room, considering making breakfast until George shows up, but he doesn’t have to wait that long. George, as nearly always, is wearing a black tee and black trackies. Alex is so off his shits that his mouth goes a little dry just looking at him. George stops dead to look at him, and doesn’t say a word. 

“Morning, mate.” Alex manages, “Was about to make somethin’ to eat, could make you a bowl if you wanted?”

George hesitates, and then, “Yeah sure, uh, cheers. Shreddies?” It’s a bit off to hear George not sound totally sure of himself. This is the biggest reaction Alex has gotten all week. Maybe plan “Shaggulous” isn’t so hopeless after all? 

Alex can feel George’s eyes on him as he walks into the kitchen, so he resolves to be particularly insidious. He knows the pants are just out of sight, so he reaches needlessly long to get the cereal bowls, can feel the hoodie riding up over his arse. His face feels warm, and his palms nearly slip getting the bowls.

George coughs behind him, which starts a short fit of them. 

“Y’alright mate?” Alex calls, smugness leaking in. He doesn’t want to call it too early, but George hasn’t left or called him bent, so Alex is planning his win. 

“Al, what’ve you got on?” George sounds strained, so Alex turns to face him. He looks just as strained. Alex can see redness creeping up his neck. 

“You like it? Couldn’t believe I still had this in the back of my closet. You remember this one? Gotta be from your first year or somethin’. Was a bit cold this morning, and a big hoodie is quite cozy, innit?” Alex brings his legs together as he says this, talks slowly with his hands. He feels small under George’s gaze, feminine, and rare. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s capable of even accidentally being sexy, so he hopes he doesn’t look mental.

“I, uh, yeah, mate. I remember.” George says slowly, only meeting Alex’s eyes briefly. 

Alex, to his credit, has been frustrated and horny for days, and hasn’t had a shag for the past several months. He might as well cut his losses and go in for it. He leaves the cereal bowls on the counter and rounds out into the living room to come up to George, whose eyes have followed him as he went. 

“Or,” Alex starts, “Do you not mean the hoodie?”

“I mean the other thing, yeah.” George wrings his hands together. 

“What other thing, George?” Alex moves in a little closer, now beyond the boundary of what would be considered friendly space. He looks down only slightly to meet George’s gaze.

George’s eyes widen for a minute, “Uh, you know, Al, the…. the pants.” 

Alex can feel his dick twitch in the knickers. He brings a hand to one edge of the hoodie and pulls it up just enough to reveal the pink lace. “These pants, mate?”

George’s hand raises, and then stops. “Please tell me I’m not reading this wrong, mate. Are you tryin’ for a shag?”

“Christ George, I’ve been trying all week.” Alex takes a shuddered breath, “Been wantin’ you to see me like this.”

“Shit Al, I reckoned you were just gettin’ lazier.” George laughs, confidence returning. It’s amazing to watch, really. For someone who hides his face, George is the most self-assured sounding bloke Alex has ever met. “You look good, though.”

Alex nearly comes on the spot, can’t fathom his sleepless fantasies unfolding here in his stupid fucking living room full of empty boxes and dumb boy shit. He wants George to  _ ruin _ him. “Yeah? Got all done up for you. Couldn’t get it out of my fuckin’ head after you called me a fit bird.”

George finally puts his fucking hands on him, sliding onto Alex’s hips, “Is that it mate? You want me to call you a pretty  _ girl _ ?” He moves one hand to trace his thumb under one arch of the knickers. Alex might self-destruct. 

“Yeah,” Alex has to look away, down or somewhere else, “yeah, George, I..”

George brings his other hand up to Alex’s neck, tracing his cheek with his other thumb. Alex feels it like a brand. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Al. Can I kiss you?” 

Alex nods, brain most likely short circuiting when George tilts his face to bring their lips together. Maddeningly, he’s still touching the knickers. It all feels deliriously good already. After months of nothing, Alex is a little hair-triggered, his breath coming short and gut feeling twisted.

George kisses like Alex thought he might, exploringly, gentle presses of lips graduating onto gainful slips of tongue. It warms him down to his toes, and there’s no way George hasn’t felt his knickers shifting with the hardness of his cock. “Really raring to go, aren’t ya?” George teases, pulling away slightly, “Wonder how wet you are already,”

Alex moans when George kisses him again, the headiness of imagination meeting reality almost too much to handle. He wants George to muse about how wet he is, he wants him to stretch those fingers into his cunt. He’s being driven to the edge with a few words, feels nearly high with it. 

“For you, George, I’m wet for you.” Alex has to rest his head in George’s shoulder if he’s going to get through this, “Have been every day this fuckin’ week, mate.” 

At this, George moves his fingers to lightly grip Alex’s cock over the distressed fabric of the pants. Alex can tell that he’s leaked a bit from the tip, the lace must be darkened with it. “Yeah? What’ve you been thinkin’ about? Soakin’ through these knickers for me?” 

“George,” Alex says, “fuck me, please, Christ.” It’s as though every nerve ending in him is buzzing. He could rattle out of his skin.

“Couch or…” George says near his ear, kissing against his jaw. 

“Your room, your bed. Please. Treat me like I’m some bird you brought back to shag.” Alex says this in a heated rush, embarrassed but so, so warm. His stomach is turning with want.

George teases the head of his cock once more before pulling away, grabbing Alex’s sleeved hand to lead him to his room. “Alright, can’t wait to see those tits you’ve been hidin’, Al. Got me wonderin’ what’s beneath that hoodie, mate.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, “Nothin’ you haven’t seen already.” It comes out a lot quieter than he intended. He feels different than he usually does pre-imminent-shag. He feels looser, ready to be handled instead of doing the handling. It’s a floaty feeling, paired with the arousal in his gut. He trusts George implicitly, he realizes, he always has.

George’s room is a mess, which is probably the most normal part of this whole morning. His bedsheets are already a tangled heap. It would make Alex laugh at the impossibility of this whole situation if he wasn’t so hard in his pants. George moves to sit on his bed, and looks up at Alex, gesturing for him to sit on George’s thighs. Alex, somehow, straddles George’s legs without incident, with the hem of the hoodie still covering his lacy bits. 

It’s not too soon before George is touching him again, pushing his fingers against Alex’s jaw to kiss him just a little deeper. He wiggles his arse a little, breath catching when his cock brushes against George’s. He hopes to hold back a moan but he’s largely unsuccessful. George smiles into the kiss. 

“Wanna take your hoodie off, Al?” George asks, tone sweeter than Alex’s ever heard it. Alex nods, then pulls his vintage Memeulous sweatshirt over his head to expose his torso, pathetically pale after months spent inside. George bounces a knee beneath Alex and runs his nails lightly over Alex’s back, stopping at the hem of the lace before trailing back up. Exposed, Alex can tell he’s got a blush running down his chest. He can’t look George in the face. 

“Your knickers are pretty, babe.” George says this calmly, which Alex doesn’t know how the hell he manages to do. The pet name, in particular, turns Alex’s insides to mush. “What’d you wear those for, huh?” 

No matter the situation, George is always up for goading him.

“To piss you off, George.” Alex wets his lips. He grinds his hips, just to be a shit, waiting to see if George’s as affected as he is from this. George groans, just barely audible.

“Fuck off,” George says, sliding a hand up into Alex’s hair and tugging at it. He makes a move to swing Alex off his lap and onto the bed behind him. Alex immediately scoots up the bed to make room for him.

Alex lays back, resting on his elbows, whole body laid out, with his cock shamelessly pressing up against the thin lace of his knickers. George crawls up to lean back on his knees, eyes dragging over Alex’s form. He’s still fully clothed.

“Fuck, Alex. You really are a fit bird, yeah?” George traces up Alex’s ribs, bringing a thumb to ghost over Alex’s right nipple. “Been a bit since I’ve seen a nice girl in some posh knickers. Your tits are a bit small, but I don’t discriminate.” 

“Oh, how generous of you, Geor-” Alex tries to finish but can’t think straight after George leans to get his mouth on Alex’s chest. George kisses along his sternum, making Alex’s skin tingle with each brush of his lips. He makes his way over to the nipple he was thumbing at earlier, gently kissing it and shocking Alex into laying flat.

“All laid out for me like this, babe,” George breathes out against Alex’s pec, “Lettin’ me see these pretty tits. Feel like a lucky bloke.” 

Alex can’t help but shut his eyes against a breathy moan at George’s words. His cock is so hard, and he can feel George through his track pants, the bastard. “George,” He chokes out, “Please.”

“You’re easy to beg.” George says, and Alex can easily hear the smirk in his words. “Want me to get you off, babe? Want me to see that pretty cunt underneath those posh little knickers?” George lifts his knee to press against the line of Alex’s cock. “Tell me, Al, do you?”

“Yeah, yes. Mate, please.” Alex is basically whining now, desperate, “Want you to. Want your fingers in my cunt, George.”

George hums, and he moves down the bed to lean his head down between Alex’s knees, breath light against Alex’s cock. Alex can feel the scratch of George’s stubble against his thigh, and he’s so incredibly sensitive that it makes his whole leg tingle. “It’d break my heart to take these cute knickers off.” He kisses the inside of Alex’s thigh, and then lightly bites there. “Let’s just see if you’re wet enough, then.”

George pulls the knickers to the side, and Alex can feel the cool air in the bedroom against his arsehole. He squirms under George’s gaze, feeling very exposed, which of course means he gets randier, cock leaking onto his hip. “Doesn’t look like you’re wet enough for my fingers, babe.” George tuts, “Your cunt’s right winkin’ at me, though. Quite the flirt, innit?”

Alex is going to explode, he’s going to expire, right here in George’s messy as fuck room. And just when he thinks he can’t handle another twist, George takes the initiative to lick wide against his arsehole. Alex’s eyes fly open and he  _ moans _ , like bodily reacting before he can catch up. It’s so absurdly intimate, so unlike anything he could have expected from his  _ flatmate _ that he’s reeling.

George marches on, however, and Alex is compelled to get with the program. All of a sudden he’s making noises coming from nowhere and everywhere, his hands are twitching against the mess of sheets, toes curling, and he’s saying George’s name interspersed with all his insane moans. His cock jumps against the lace of his fucking stupidly pink knickers, idiotically horny. 

As Alex is contemplating his existence, George wedges his tongue inside Alex’s arse, on a fucking Thursday morning. It feels weirdly transcendent. Alex doesn’t know where the fuck he is. A sustained 30 seconds of this sensation feels like hours, Alex’s back taut off the bed, moaning ludicrously. At this point his cock feels like it’ll never go soft again. Alex doesn’t care. 

Mercifully, George pulls back before Alex blows his load untouched. “You’re a fan of that one, huh?” He sounds like he’s trying for levity, but he’s out of breath. Alex braves a look, and sees the shiny bottom half of George’s face, and his hips in black track pants flush against the bed. Alex wrenches a hand over to grab at the base of his cock through the knickers, and throws his head back against the pillows.

“Fuck, mate.” Alex groans.

“Your cunt’s proper wet now, Al. Still want me to stretch you out?” George asks. Alex moans weakly in response. He feels George’s lips against his inner thigh again, kissing over what Alex knows has never been kissed before. “Reckon I can make you feel good with my fingers in your cunt, too.”

“Please, George, want you to. Wanna come.” Alex sounds thrashed beyond his own comprehension. He’s shagged plenty of blokes and birds in his time, but nothing like this. 

“Alright, babe,” George drawls against Alex’s skin, “I’ll take care of you. Can I touch your clit, too? Never had one so easy to find.”

Alex nearly weeps at the prospect of getting fingered while getting a handy. It sounds like pure bliss. He nods, but belated realizes that George probably can’t see that from his perspective. “Course, mate,” Alex says, practically preening. He’s got a lot to sort through after this shag. 

George pulls down Alex’s knickers to rest below his balls, wrapping a few fingers around Alex’s cock as it springs out of the lace. Alex howls, and brings his ankles over George’s shoulders to dig his heels into his flatmate’s back. George sits back up on his knees, dragging Alex with him till Alex is laid out like a slag. It makes him burn even hotter, impossibly. 

George prods a finger along Alex’s rim after a few strokes of his cock. He eases it in, a familiar push and stretch that Alex didn’t even know he had been craving. 

“Christ, Al, you’re so tight.” George groans, “How’sit that this is the first time I’m gettin such a tight bird in my bed?” He pushes his finger into Alex’s hole repeatedly, curving it just before pulling it nearly out. 

Alex heaves his breath so hard he feels his tongue getting dry. “George, please, another, Jesus.”

George wastes no time sliding in another finger next to the first, gently pressing around before spreading them inside Alex. He spreads Alex’s copious precome over his cock, “You gonna come from this, babe? Come with my fingers in your cunt? You keep getting wetter.”

He releases Alex’s cock to drop back down to the bed on his elbow, and Alex can feel his subtle rutting from where his hands are resting. Alex takes up the mantle of stroking his own cock, moaning obscenely, probably warranting a strongly-worded note from a neighbor in the next few days.

He can’t even look down as he strokes himself faster, a quicker pace than the leisurely stretching inside his arse. Alex’s breaths are getting shorter and shorter, his hips coming up from the sheets to meet George’s presses. It’s beyond. 

“Can’t wait to get my cock in here, Al, all warm and tight for me. So pretty and wet, yeah?”

Alex sees white when he comes, feels his come stripe up his stomach. 

Alex comes back into himself a few seconds later, witnessing George bury his face into Alex’s thigh as his hips stutter against the bed. Alex hears him groaning. Belatedly, he realizes he got his flatmate to come in his trackies, and counts that as the most triumphant W in history. 

“Bloody hell, mate.” Alex says, rubbing his hand against his freshly-shaven face. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

George is still splayed at the foot of the bed, playing absentmindedly with Alex’s knickers, “Fuck off, Alex.” He runs a finger through the drying come there. He’s flushed, still fully clothed. By contrast, Alex still is completely starkers save for the pink lace knickers pulled slightly down his hips. The dichotomy is incomprehensible, but Alex is lacking the brainpower to string two coherent thoughts together. “Did you shave your legs?” Alex hears George ask, just as bold as usual. 

“Maybe I did,” Alex concedes, “I don’t know mate, shaving is for birds, innit? Wanted to feel like a girl you’d shag.” 

George hums, “I’d shag you hairy legs and all, I think.”

“Cheers,” Alex says aloud, voice tired but even. Internally, he feels a dull thump from his heart. “I’d shag you anytime, mate. Can’t help but want an encore after a performance like that.” Alex pulls the pants back up onto his hips.

“Can tell the knickers really get you goin’, huh? You might not be able to get it up without ‘em.” George scoots up the bed to lay on his side next to Alex. He’s so handsome, eyes bright, unruly eyebrows. Alex is so caught up already. 

“Good thing I got four more pairs in the laundry.” Alex goes for coy but ends up somewhere in the neighborhood of over-eager.

George laughs, and Alex watches his face. 


End file.
